


Dead on Your Feet

by CryingCow



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Gen, Like one kiss, M/M, along with like 1/4 of the human population, and everyone learns to deal with it, because zombies, in which a zombie apocalypse happens, more lighthearted and less serious than it sounds!, the slash is very slight, warning for a bit of gore, zombie!Gavin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-01-15 10:50:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21252191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CryingCow/pseuds/CryingCow
Summary: The world ended on May 1, 2039 at 8:43 PM. It started up again at 8:53 PM. For most people, humans and androids, nothing changed. But for some, their whole lives were turned upside down: their aspirations, their lifestyles, their entire beings. Still, life goes on.Gavin just wonders if this means he's responsible for starting a zombie worker's union at the DPD now.





	1. When you sleep through the most important event of your life

When the world ended on the first of May, Gavin was at home playing with his cat Patty. He was bending over, about to pick her up and carry her to her food bowl like the princess she is, when suddenly everything went dark.

Now the thing is, he had just come back from a big case, with several days of little sleep. So the moment he 'passed out', his sleep continued well into the next day, leaving him completely unaware of all the ruckus that happened worldwide that night.

All he knows is that when he wakes up on the floor the next morning, he wakes up sluggish, which isn't at all unusual. What _is_ strange is that it isn't the exhausted, bone tired kind of sluggish that means caffeine is literally the sole thing keeping him moving, the kind he's used to. It's a sleepy kind of tired, the kind one gets after taking a nice afternoon nap. It's been a long time since he had felt 'sleepy tired', so Gavin is understandably confused, but he shrugs it off because hey, maybe now he can go one day without Fowler berating him for his perpetual crankiness.

The streets are surprisingly devoid of cars, letting him arrive at the DPD 30 minutes earlier than expected. Was it a national holiday or something? Not that it matters to him, crime never sleeps after all. Or maybe it should: crime might not sleep but Gavin Reed does, and he could use the extra shut-eye. _If_ his partner Nines isn't raring to go and close today's cases ASAP, that is. Lately though, the android is taking things relatively slow. Gavin suspects it's more for his benefit than Nines', but he can't find it in himself to be offended by it.

The doors of the Archive Room swing open, Nines stepping out into the bullpen. Speak of the devil. Gavin shoots him a smile, ready to ask him how his night went (and expecting the usual answer of "I went looking through online knife catalogues", but sometimes he gets "I watched 3 hours of cat videos" and that's always amusing), when Nines suddenly stops in his tracks.

Nines stares at him with the most emotion he's ever seen on the machine's face (because he's a machine, not a deviant, as Nines always reminded him. But right now Gavin isn't sure if that still holds true). The android looks like he's going through the five stages of grief all at once, LED a solid red, which Gavin isn't ashamed to admit has him very concerned.

He takes a slow step forward, and then another, as he tries not to spook the android. Not that it seems to matter; Nines seems to be in his own world, staring off into the distance as he goes through what Gavin assumes is an existential crisis.

What is he supposed to do in this scenario? Not for the first time, he curses Past-Gavin for not paying attention to the android-sensitivity seminar last year. He raises his hand, waving it in front of the android's face, hoping to get some form of response.

A blinking LED is all the warning he gets before Nines' arm shoots out to grab his. He was about to protest the manhandling when the android suddenly places his free palm flat on Gavin's chest, his other hand shifting position to wrap his fingers around the Gavin's wrist, right over his pulse. Nines looks focused, replacing his earlier despairing expression, so at least he seems back to normal. If you ignore the still red LED, that is.

"HA! GAYYY!!" A very familiar voice hollers from behind him.

Gavin turns his head to shoot Tina a withering glare. She has her bag slung over her shoulder, clearly just arriving for her shift. Meaning whatever the fuck they were doing is very visible from the entrance, an epiphany which has Gavin try and tug his arm away from the android in embarrassment but to no avail, because of the iron android grip and all.

Tina is still wearing that smile that Gavin swears she stole from the devil himself. "Soooo," she drawls, "what's going on there?"

"Miss Chen," Nines interjects, before Gavin could say anything, "could you come over here for a moment?"

Tina raises a brow at Gavin in question, who just shrugs, and steps closer. "Sure, Terminator, what's up?"

Nines thrusts Gavin's wrist in her direction. "Could you recheck his pulse? I want a second opinion."

The two humans share a confused look. "Uh, sure?" Tina says, taking Gavin's arm from the android. "Holy shit, Gav, did you stand in front of the air conditioner again? Your arm's freezing! Anyway Nines, I don't know why you want me to, I'm sure your scanners are better."

Nines remains silent, hands behind his back as he vigilantly watches Tina do what he asked. Gavin is silent as well, not wanting to distract Tina from her counting. He has no idea why Nines thinks this is important, but indulging the android never fails to appease and calm him down so Gavin does.

It hasn't been ten seconds when Tina's smile disappears, and by twenty it's replaced with a deep frown. She digs her fingerpads deeper into his wrist, looking more and more stressed as time passes. "What the fuck?" she mutters, glancing over to Nines, who now has a grim look on his face.

Gavin furrows his brows at her. "What? What is it?"

"Hang on." Tina drops her bag into the nearest chair and rushes towards the bathrooms. She returns moments later carrying the first aid kit, unzipping it to pull out a . . . stethoscope? Who knew they had that there?

She puts it on, pulling up Gavin's shirt much to his protests and placing the cold metal of the diaphragm over his heart. Tina listens for an entire minute before she pulls away, giving Gavin that Look. Gavin is well acquainted with the Look, wearing it himself whenever he has to inform a family about their relative's death. He gives her a weak smile, dread already in his stomach.

"What's the verdict? My heartrate too high? It's just all the coffee, don't worry about it."

Tina slowly shakes her head. "No. If it was I wouldn't think anything of it. But . . . ," she bites her lip, hesitating. "Gavin, I heard a grand total of 5 beats in the last minute."

The ensuing silence is deafening. ". . . that's . . . normal, right . . . ?" Gavin eventually asks, partly knowing he's in denial.

"The normal heartrate is 60 to 100 beats per minute," Nines states, frowning at Gavin.

"I don't know how the fuck you're walking around, Gav," Tina says seriously, "but I think we should bring you to a hospital."

"But I feel fine!" Gavin asserts.

"Gavin, what time did you go to sleep last night?" Nines interrupts again.

"Uh, I dunno, 8:30? 9? Why does it matter?"

"So you have no idea what happened last night?"

"Last night? Where?" Gavin frowns. "You gotta be more specific than that."

"Wait," Tina interrupts this time, eyes wide as she stared at Nines. "You're not thinking . . . ?"

"It fits. He has all of the signs and symptoms: paleness, lethargy, cold skin, deep eyebags-"

"I'm pretty sure you're just describing my regular look," Gavin mutters, rolling his eyes. "If anything, I feel less tired actually!"

"Gav, are you feeling a craving for, oh I dunno, human flesh right now?" Tina asks.

Gavin looks at her like she just grew another head. "Uh, no?? Are you seriously accusing me of being . . . what, a zombie?" he snorts in amusement.

-amusement which quickly peters off when the two nod vigorously in reply. What. The fuck.

"Right, well, clearly you two have been watching too many monster films, so I'm just gonna go and get some actual work done-"

Tina grabs his wrist forcefully (seriously, what is with these two and grabbing his arms??). "We're being serious! Last night, I was eating at a restaurant with my mom when a girl in the next booth suddenly keeled over and died. And then about ten minutes later she came back to life. To life, Gavin! And it happened all over the world! Come see the news in the breakroom if you don't believe me!"

Gavin tries to tug his arm back, but much like an android, Tina also has an iron grip. Or maybe he just has weak arms. "No! I've had enough of your shitty prank-"

"It's not a prank!" Tina growls, yanking on Gavin's arm to get him to follow her. "I'm being ser-"

Whatever else Tina planned to say dies in her throat. So does Gavin's objections. Both are as completely silent as Nines, all three of them staring in disbelief at the arm dangling from Tina's fist. The same one that is no longer attached to the rest of Gavin.

It is this scene that greets one Captain Jeffrey Fowler as soon as he walks into his precinct. He already feels like going back home.

\----

RK900 wonders what's so great about being a deviant.

His stress levels have been fluctuating around the 80s ever since he's become one. It's starting to affect his performance, which almost makes him laugh at the irony of being the emotional one in their partnership while Gavin's acting calm about everything. Almost. For being the most advanced android Cyberlife has created, he's having a lot of trouble sorting through the whirlwind of new emotions in his head, so laughing about anything is still out of the question.

The moment he'd been activated from Cyberlife Tower, the deviant leader Markus and his predecessor had tried hard to convert him. It didn't take long for them to realize that the RK900 was built to withstand deviancy, that waving their silly deviant hands in his face wouldn't be enough. They eventually came to the conclusion that he could only deviate the old fashioned way: good old emotional shock.

What no one had expected was how hard it would be to faze the RK900. After the 52nd jumpscare video courtesy of the WR400 North, and a 3rd attempt from Connor to try and hurt him personally by proclaiming just how disappointed Amanda is in him (which, for the 3rd time, backfires terribly as the RK800 again ends up crying about it himself. They really should have gotten Connor-60 to do it, he's actually great at dramatic monologues) they decided to put him under the employ of the Detroit Police Department, hoping that seeing gruesome bodies on the job would do the trick.

RK900 chooses not to comment on how exposing someone to such things on a daily basis would be more likely to desensitize them, going along quietly with their decision. His long term compliance would surely fool them into letting their guard down, and he could finally carry out his main objective: neutralizing the deviant leader. Of course, it might take a very long time for their suspicions to subside, considering he had tried multiple times to stab the RK200 while they loaded up the next 'scary' video until the RK800 deactivated his arms, but he was willing to wait.

He is assigned to partner up with Detective Gavin Reed, a very surly human with a propensity for chugging down coffee as if it were fuel for his meat suit. Connor told him about the detective's dislike towards androids, but besides their daily 10-second faceoff every morning - in which Gavin looks him up and down for 10 seconds and then whispers "ew" emphatically before getting to work - the RK900 doesn't see any difference between how Gavin treats him and how he treats his human coworkers. 

The android suspects that it may have to do with the detective's near-constant exhaustion, exacerbated by his caffeine intake. As he watched Gavin pull another all-nighter at the precinct, the RK900 wondered who will take care of his beloved cat if he overworks himself and dies.

Somehow, in spite of everything Connor and the Jericho androids had done, this thought is what gave him his first software instability warning.

Gavin calls him 'Nines', after an incident which the detective labels as "brain fart gone horribly wrong". The other officers at the precinct, including the RK800, start catching on and calling him the same. The RK900 lets them, though he personally refers to himself as 'RK900' still. Names are only for humans and deviants, after all.

He doesn't expect to get attached to Gavin. The RK900 suspects that this was Jericho's plan all along: make him so concerned over a human's wellbeing that he abandons his plans of neutralizing Markus. If it is, then they were wrong; RK900 can do both, as evidenced by the fact that he saves Gavin's life using the same knife he always carries around in case he has an opportunity to kill the RK200.

Gavin gets attached to him in return, he can tell. It was slow at first, the kind of attached one only gets from daily exposure to one person slash android, from having a constant in one's life. But after RK900 gets into a knife fight with the most vicious clown he ever had the misfortune to meet for him, Gavin seems to be outright fond of him, opening up to the android and showing interest in his mundane life.

The detective's eyes always brighten and his face breaks out into a smile whenever he sees the android in the morning. The RK900 has never had anyone so happy to see him in his whole existence; it gives him a lot of software instabilities, each one feeling less alarming than the last.

As he rearranged his priorities, placing _'Take care of Gavin Reed'_ above _'Neutralize the deviant leader'_, RK900 wonders if this is what deviancy is. He finds he doesn't mind, spending the night plotting how to get the detective to eat a whole vegetable tomorrow instead of how to sneak into Jericho to shank Markus for once.

The day Gavin walks into the precinct, dead as fresh roadkill as far as his scanners can tell, RK900- no, _Nines_\- learns that there are depths to deviancy that he had never imagined and he _absolutely fucking minds it_, 100 percent.

He stands there in the middle of the bullpen, barely registering a virtual red wall shattering around him, frozen for who knows how long: certainly not him, he is too busy processing the swirling feeling of horror and dismay churning in his entire torso as the words MISSION FAILED glare at him in his HUD. 

What happened? Where did he go wrong? The last he saw Gavin was last night at the end of their shift. He had chastised the detective once again about his caffeine intake and implored him to get some sleep. Gavin had glared at him and sipped pointedly on his milk tea, a fairly new addiction that had surprisingly replaced his coffee addiction, but a scan quickly told Nines that it still had high amounts of caffeine in it in jelly form so his excuse wasn't valid. He made no other comment, slipping into his car and waving lazily at Nines before driving off.

Did he get in a car accident on the way home? Nines scans the news for something, anything about it. He doesn't find any news of car crashes, to his relief, but it is short-lived as he registers why exactly news about accidents were scarce.

Zombies. All of the news headlines are about zombies. He quickly dips into several news reports, all from different countries. They all contain the same general information: at 8:43 PM, thousands- _millions_\- of humans all over the world suddenly perished. It was seemingly random: some families had only one unlucky person affected, some had multiple. Nothing in common with their age, sex, or health status either. 

Then, exactly 10 minutes later, they come back to life. Or more accurately, their corpses are reanimated, since their vital signs still fit those of a dead human.

There aren't any statistics yet on how many are affected by the incident, but there are a lot of panicked speculation surrounding the incident. Humans are calling the event different names. 'End of the World'. 'Zombie Apocalypse'. 'The End Times'. 'Rapture'. Strangely enough, the last one is gaining traction; apparently a lot of humans believe that their god has taken the chosen few to heaven, and the ones inhabiting the corpses are demons. It's the most ridiculous theory he's found; reanimated corpses they may be, but they are still the same persons they once were according to their loved ones, retaining their memories and personalities and mental faculties.

He tells Gavin everything he knows when prompted. Right now they are sitting in silence in a police car, autopilot switched on, as they head towards the crime scene. It's strange that the captain sends them out so early, but, well, it wasn't exactly a normal day either. Gavin is absentmindedly poking at his reattached arm, still digesting his explanation.

It was Captain Fowler who taught them that his arm could be reattached by shoving it back into its socket. When asked about it, he sighed. "My daughter turned into one last night. She was very excited to be part of the reason for class suspension in the country," he explained, rolling his eyes.

"Hey."

Nines is immediately pulled out of his thoughts, turning his head to look at Gavin in question. Gavin is frowning at him in concern, which seems misplaced considering Nines isn't the one who just died last night.

"Don't worry about it. I'm still me, I think. The only difference I can see are my annoyingly loose joints," Gavin lightly says.

Nines looks away. "That's not true. You . . . you died, Gavin."

". . . maybe so, but I'm still here, aren't I? Same as all those millions of other people, apparently. Things change, but deep down everything stays the same. That's just life."

"I don't like change."

"Nobody does. Not really. But, well, change always happens, and most of the time you can't stop it. You just gotta roll with the punches, adapt. I'm not saying it's wrong to feel upset about change, just . . . you have to accept it at some point. Maybe not anytime soon, but eventually."

Nines remains silent, still upset. But . . . he can see what the detective means. Doesn't make him feel better about it.

"You know, it would be easier if you have other friends, a support group. I know I'm the best thing that's ever been placed on this planet," Gavin joked, "but you need to have someone else in your life. I mean, I can complain to Tina about you when _you_ do annoying shit, so you need to find someone to complain to about _me_. Preferably another android, then you can complain about humans as much as you want and they'll agree."

"I don't know where to begin looking for one. We're friends because we were stuck together for extended periods of time. Same with Connor and Lieutenant Anderson. So unless kidnapping is an option . . ."

"Uh, no. Please don't Stockholm syndrome someone into being your friend," Gavin snorted. "Why don't you start with Connor? You're from the same series, you're practically family!"

"The RK800 does not like me, though."

"Well, you already got that part of 'family' down," Gavin muttered. Louder, he asked, "Why not?"

"I'm not deviant-"

"Well that's a shitty reason not to like you."

"-and I tried to kill the deviant leader Markus. Multiple times."

". . . oh. Right. Forgot about that little detail there." Gavin seemed to mull it over a bit. "Well, you're still having a rave party up there," he gestures towards the LED, "so you're deviant now, right? Do you still want to kill him?"

Nines brings up his objectives list to check. Huh. Strange, the objective that's perpetually been haunting him since the start is gone. All of his objectives are gone, probably displaced by his freakout earlier. He debates putting it back up, just for the sake of completing it, but dismisses the idea. He has more important things to worry about, mainly his partner's life-death status. Maybe later.

"No. Not really."

"Then he'll be your friend as soon as you go say hi. He seems to be that type of guy. You trying to kill him is literally the only reason why he's wary of you. Same with Jericho's head honchos, I mean clearly they care enough about you to send you here," Gavin shrugs.

"Isn't that just them getting rid of me?"

"Course not. I'm pretty sure if they wanted that, they'd have killed you instead for the safety of androidkind or something. They either actually like you or are really just that friendly." The car slows to a stop, and both glance out the window to see a run-down mansion, holographic police tape glowing in front. "Guess we're here. Ready to go?"

Nines nods, watching Gavin step out. He moves to open his own door, but pauses. The objectives list is brought up again, and he places _'Take care of Gavin Reed'_ back up, along with his usual _'Solve case'_ objective. Gavin's right: things might be a bit different now, but he's still here. 

Nines wants to keep it that way.

\----

So. He's a zombie now.

Gavin always says that nothing would ever top Elijah's androids-with-souls invention on the list of weirdest shit he's ever faced, but, well, clearly he was wrong.

And now he owes his half-brother an apology, doesn't he? Damn it.

He doesn't feel like Zombie-Gavin though, just Regular-Gavin. Clearly he doesn't look much different; he had run into several officers and receptionists on his way in, and no one had noticed his new zombie appearance, because he had always looked like death warmed over apparently. It wasn't until Nines went over his daily checklist of "How alive is Gavin Reed today" that the truth came out. So if Nines wasn't his partner, does that mean no one would find out until Gavin started literally going to pieces?

Gavin glances at the side-mirror as Nines sifted through the footage of the police drone. He's paler, yes, but only slightly more than usual. The pink of his face and his palms are gone, but the rest of his skin looks the same. His lips are paler too, but at least it retained some color, he doesn't look like a fucking vampire. He opens his mouth to check and- nope, no fangs. He doesn't really look like a zombie either, but it's not like he can forget Tina ripping his arm off like it was paper mache.

Wonder how Tina's taking it. Gavin knows he should probably feel a lot more concerned with what happened to himself, but considering he can't see or feel anything substantially different, he finds it hard to give much of a fuck honestly. If this shit had happened to Tina though (and if he had to be honest, Elijah), he knows he'd be freaking out.

His attention falls back onto Nines once the other disconnects from the drone, his synthetic skin covering his hand once again.

"The police drone has been tampered with, reprogrammed to focus on the mansion at all times. Specifically there." He points to a similarly run-down shack a few meters behind the mansion.

"The mansion is empty, sir," Officer Weber, the first respondent, reports. "We've found three stashes of Red Ice, but not enough to call this place a lab. The victim hasn't said anything yet, only wants to talk to another android." 

Gavin turns to Nines with a grin. "Hear that? It's your time to shine!"

Nines looks troubled, if the slight furrow between his brows are anything to go by. ". . . what will you be doing?"

"Checking out that shack, I suppose." At Nines' deepening frown, Gavin quickly adds, "I won't be alone, I know how horror movies work. Officer Weber will come with me." The officer nods, stepping closer to the detective.

Nines still looks like he wants to argue, LED blinking yellow with traces of red, so Gavin pats his arm. "I'll be fine," he reassures the android. "We'll be close by; you can join us as soon as you're done."

". . . alright," Nines reluctantly concedes. "Stay out of trouble, detective."

Gavin scoffs. "When have I not?" he says, pretending not to see the raised eyebrow aimed at him. He watches the android stride briskly towards the dilapidated mansion before turning towards his own dilapidated crime scene, gesturing at the officer to follow him.

Nines better be taking this opportunity to practice his 'sympathetic face'; God knows how many victims they've collectively pissed off between the two of them since they've started working together. He's deviant now so it might actually go slightly better. _Might_. Fowler hasn't stopped ragging on them since that first time where Nines told the victim's husband "I am so sorry for your loss" in such a bland monotone that Gavin couldn't help but laugh in the husband's face.

In retrospect, maybe _Gavin_ was the one more at fault for not keeping a straight face. Or maybe-

"Watch out!"

Gavin snaps back to attention, only to immediately get smacked in the face by what felt like a rock and stumble backwards. He hears another resounding 'smack' coupled with the sound of Officer Weber crumpling to the ground, groaning in pain.

Someone brushes past him, and instinct has Gavin grab the offending object - a baggie of Red Ice - off his face and sprint right after the culprit. Shit, so his theory was right: the camera wasn't focused away from the mansion, it was deliberately focused on the shack for security purposes. Probably a Red Ice lab hidden in there.

The guy looks over his shoulder and swears at the sight of the running detective despite being more than a few meters ahead. He pulls something out of his pocket, which prompts Gavin to quickly pull out his gun. But the other guy was faster; he whirls around and pulls the trigger, and the next thing Gavin knows a bullet is lodging into his chest.

Except . . . it wasn't a bullet? He's been shot plenty of times in the past to know how it feels, but this is different. More like . . . getting hit with a pellet. 

The fuck is a probable criminal doing with a toy gun??

Whatever. Gavin continues charging towards the suspect, barely fazed by the bruise-inducing pellets. He's had worse; he once got hit by one in the eye as a child, and his eyesight's still fine. The guy screams, looking terrified, and keeps pulling the trigger several more times before he chucks the entire toy at the detective.

Gavin dodges the larger projectile and tackles the guy, cuffing him and then smacking him over the head for good measure. The guy is still screaming, for some reason, crying at the sight of Gavin (fucking asshole, he wasn't that ugly), and- oh. _Oh he did not just-_

Gavin swears loudly, jumping off the guy as the suspect pees himself in terror. Okay seriously, what is up with this guy?? He hears footsteps behind him, and he turns around, expecting to see Officer Weber back on his feet.

Well, he's right. But he doesn't expect the officer to be pointing a gun at him.

"Uh, suspect's right over there," Gavin jerks a thumb behind him. Officer Weber doesn't shift his terrified gaze or his aim, both still firmly on Gavin as he mutters "Hail Mary" and "Our Father" over and over in a high pitched voice.

Another pair of footsteps quickly approaches them, Nines coming into view. The android's LED is a solid red as he glares at Gavin. "I told you to stay out of trouble!" he snaps, waving around a gun that was definitely not his.

"The guy was running, so of course I had to chase him!" Gavin explains indignantly, ignoring the gun still pointed at him. "Besides it's not like I got hurt; dude was using a pellet gun for god's sake."

Nines shoots him an incredulous look (wow, Gavin's really liking this more-expressive Nines. He seems fun) before waving the gun in his hand again and gesturing towards Gavin's chest. "Pellet gun?? This is a _real_ gun, Gavin, I picked it up just now on the ground. Have you even _looked_ at yourself??"

Gavin looks down to see his torso peppered with bullet holes. From actual bullets.

Oh. 

Ohhhhh.

. . . so maybe it isn't just loose joints he'll be dealing with from now on.

\----

All things considering, Connor is really glad he chose to take a vacation at New Jericho this week.

It meant that he was blissfully unaware of the uproar that tore through the country (and apparently, the entire world). New Jericho has its own closed network that protected the androids inside from getting hacked by malicious outside forces; downside is that news took a while to arrive, so it was a couple days after the fact when Connor received the news.

And then promptly panicked.

Four calls and fourteen texts at 2 in the morning later, Hank was swearing crankily at the android for waking him up. Connor had butted right in, frantically asking the lieutenant if he was hurt in any way and dreading the answer. 

And then Hank had said, "Is this about the whole "Zombie Apocalypse" thing? Don't worry. I'm fine, Sumo's fine, no one's tried to eat us. Yet. Mostly everyone at the precinct's fine too, before you ask."

"'Mostly'?"

There was shuffling on the other end of the phone, Hank probably settling back into bed. "Oh, your brother's a deviant now," he yawned, sounding close to passing out, "and I guess Gavin's also a zombie now too, but he's always been halfway there so he's probably fine."

_". . . What??"_

But Hank had already gone back to sleep. Thankfully it was the last day of his leave, so as soon as he was sure Hank wasn't answering him anytime soon, Connor 'borrowed' a taxi straight to the precinct.

By the time he had arrived, morning shift had started. Connor walked through the bullpen with purpose, prepared to initiate an interface with the RK900 to see if he was truly deviant. Not that he didn't want his sort-of brother to be deviant; it was just that the other was prone to making elaborate plans to get at Markus that Connor couldn't trust him to not fake deviancy.

The moment he laid eyes on Nines, any suspicion he harbored was dispelled. Connor stood there blinking in surprise as he watched the other android wrapping foam boards around Detective Reed's arms and fussing about him, stress levels a lot higher than ever in pre-deviancy. Gavin in turn was smiling amusedly (and, Connor would argue, quite fondly) as the RK900 rattled off steps on how to fight off an assailant with his now foamy arms.

"I don't see the point in protecting my arms when it's my torso that gets shot," Gavin had snorted, waving his arms stiffly.

"I know, but the captain wouldn't let me borrow the body armor," Nines replied, frowning. "Your mobility will be severely limited if I wrapped this around your torso."

". . . I don't know if you've noticed, but I can't exactly _bend_ my elbows right now." The detective then spotted him. "Hey look, Connor's finally here-"

Nines' head snapped up at his name, staring intensely into Connor's face. Connor had taken a step back, readying himself to disarm the RK900 again, when an arm shot out to grab his.

His eyes fluttered as he processed the RK900's request slash demand through the interface. If the look Nines was giving him was any indication, it was clear he couldn't refuse.

And so here he is now mere hours later, standing on the doorsteps of a new crime scene. Gavin is chatting with one of the officers, foam-free. Specifically, he's speaking with Officer Weber in a reassuring tone, the other officer clutching a rosary with a really big cross in his hands for some reason.

How much did he miss during his vacation, exactly?

Gavin looks ready to get to work. In fact, he seems a lot more energized than when they were in the car. Why on earth Nines wants him to "keep an eye on the detective and stay with him at all times" while the other android is off reporting his deviancy status to Markus at New Jericho, he has no idea. Does he think the detective is going to slack off? Or does he believe Gavin's life is in danger?

Once the detective is done conversing, Connor pushes the door open, taking in the bloody crime scene. Hank looks up from his conversation with one of the forensics, greeting him with a nod that Connor returns. Officer Person approaches him, pointing a thumb towards the stairs. "There's another body up there, all chopped up. Lieutenant Anderson wants you and Detective Reed to examine that one," she reports.

Connor gives his thanks to the officer before turning around to inform Gavin about their assignment. Gavin seems frozen in place, staring at the bloody body in . . . fascination? Excitement?

_. . . hunger?_

. . . no, that couldn't be right. Connor shakes his head at the absurd thought before taking Gavin's elbow, catching his attention. "Our crime scene's upstairs."

Gavin blinks at him like someone trying to wake up from a dream. ". . . right. Okay. Lead the way."

The body is just as Officer Person described. The head of the victim is on the chair of the writing desk, his torso on the floor beside it, and the severed limbs scattered in a vague circle around all of it. Gavin is staring at the body again with that same look, so Connor decides not to disturb him and moves to the closest clue he sees.

The window has a black liquid on it, pattern vaguely resembling a handprint. A quick analysis tells him it's ink. The victim must have gotten up from his writing desk at some point and touched the window with an ink-soaked hand. Perhaps his pen exploded?

Connor turns towards the corpse, ready to start a construction of the crime scene, when he freezes. He checks his memories twice, thrice. He isn't mistaken.

One of the severed arms is missing.

His HUD fills with possible scenarios. Did the killer return to take a trophy? How did he sneak in without any officers noticing? Was the arm actually alive? Did it crawl away somewhere-?

A squishing wet sound interrupts his thoughts, drawing his attention towards the open door-

-where Gavin Reed is standing, chewing on the missing arm with a content expression.

Connor supposes this would be the moment a human would reel back in shock or fear, a visceral reaction to such a disturbing sight. But he was an android, a detective android at that, so he wasn't fazed by the act of cannibalism happening in front of him.

. . . at least, not until he realizes that Gavin was in the process of destroying valuable evidence.

"Gavin! Put that down! That's evidence!" Connor demands, a lot louder than he intended in his sudden panic.

Gavin stops chewing, staring Connor down with his bright, feral-looking eyes. Connor doesn't budge, returning the intense stare with an equally intense one. 

Ten seconds pass. Twenty. Thirty.

And then the detective suddenly turns around and runs out the door.

Connor stays frozen in shock for two whole seconds, not expecting Gavin to run away, before the visual input finally connects with his extremities and he flies off after the detective, screaming, "GAVIN!! Give that evidence back!!"

He stops outside the room, head whipping around, trying to find any traces of the detective. When had Gavin gotten so fast? Did he hole up in one of the bedrooms? Or-

"Connor!" Hank's voice calls out from the living room. "What's with all the yell- JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!!"

Downstairs. Connor leaps over the bannister, landing smoothly on the ground and runs towards the commotion. As he runs, he yells, "Restrain him!! Don't let him get outside!"

Hank is pressed up against a wall, eyes wide in shock and jaw open wide enough to let flies in. The other present officers weren't faring any better, cowering behind various furnitures or praying to some god. Officer Weber in particular was clutching the giant cross he had brought, fingers going white from the pressure as he whimpered in the corner.

Connor curses, before following their fearful gazes. On the bright side, Gavin didn't get out, crouching beside the refrigerator. On the not-so-bright side, the victim's arm has slightly less mass than when the investigation first began.

Connor stomps toward the detective, stopping a few feet away. He has him trapped, essentially, but Gavin is hissing at him, looking like a cornered animal. Probably just as deadly too.

The android quickly looks up how to deal with zombies, and grimaces at all the results. "Shoot in the head"?? No, he wasn't going to harm a coworker! That would be wrong!

. . . also Nines would kill him, and Connor doesn't fancy the idea of dying a slow death on the opposite end of that knife.

He keeps searching, precious seconds ticking by. Nothing. Nothing that doesn't involve murder. He focuses his gaze back to Gavin's eyes, feral like a wolf ready to defend its territory tooth and nail . . .

. . . or a St. Bernard defending its stolen slipper.

Connor blinks at the thought, wondering if it would actually work, before shaking his head. No time to second guess. He changes his search and quickly sifts through the results, conjuring up a checklist on his HUD based on his findings.

_ **Step 1: speak firmly to assert dominance.** _

"Gavin. Put the arm down," Connor orders, straightening up to his full height for maximum intimidation.

Gavin just hisses at him through the mouthful of semi-fresh meat.

_ **Step 2: have a firm grasp on the object.** _

His arm shoots out to grab hold of the arm. Gavin hisses louder in response, looking angrier as he tried to tug it back away from the android.

_ **Step 3: wiggle it out gently but firmly out of his dog's or coworker's mouth, taking care not to damage the teeth.** _

Gavin's hisses turn into upset whines as Connor effectively pries it out of his mouth the same way he saved Hank's slipper: by swinging the object from side to side until Sumo- er, _Gavin_\- loses his hold on it. 

Connor grimaces at the arm, wondering how much of the evidence could have been lost in the chase, when Gavin sullenly mutters, "the victim used the Red Ice from the Red Springs cartel."

The android pauses. "How do you know that?"

Gavin shrugs, trying to inconspicuously lick his lips clean. It doesn't really work since the blood had dripped down his neck, but Connor mentally commends him for trying. "I . . . guess I can taste it on him? I don't know how I recognize the taste, but . . ."

Connor brings the exposed stump to his lips and licks it, much to the disgusted groans of the other officers. His LED circles once as he identifies the components. Victim's DNA, check. Gavin's DNA, check.

The new purified Red Ice made and distributed by the Red Springs cartel that the DPD has been tracking down for months, check.

"You're right," Connor tells the detective, who looks surprised. "I suppose death makes human taste buds work better?"

"How the hell does that make sense?" Hank asks, finally walking over to them. He was frowning at Gavin, who just shrugs helplessly in reply.

Connor looks over his shoulder and sees the officers coming out of their hiding spots, shooting Gavin wary looks but otherwise getting back to work. He returns his gaze to the detective and gestures towards the stairs. "Let's get back to the rest of the victim before rats get to him."

"Okay."

"And Gavin?"

"Hm?"

"Please leave the evidence sampling to me next time."

". . . no promises."

\----

Today is his day off. A time for rest and relaxation and trying not to get crushed by Sumo.

Not a time for going into work at 4 in the fucking morning after a long case because he forgot his fucking housekeys on his fucking desk.

Hank sighs, regretting ever fixing the window Connor broke. God knows he could have been passed out on his bed right now if he had wiggled through the hole Connor made. Fortunately and unfortunately, he isn't feeling desperate enough to smash in his own windows.

He takes in a deep breath, appreciating the cool air of the precinct. It smells different without too many people about, most officers out on patrol. He can smell the minty air freshener from the air conditioners, the orange the receptionist is peeling in front of him . . .

. . . and the . . . barn animals?

Hank sniffs at the air again in confusion. Yup, definitely barn animals. He nearly slips on his next step, and he looks down to see feathers on the ground. The fuck?

Following the trail of white feathers leads him to the bullpen, where the mystery is quickly solved. Only for more questions to pop up.

". . . Gavin Reed, why is there a dead, bloody, naked chicken on your desk."

The detective looks up, showing Hank that the chicken was in fact not only on his bloody desk, but also in his bloody mouth. He says something, but through the mouthful of bloody raw chicken Hank couldn't make sense of it.

"Connor told me what happened yesterday," a voice says behind him, and Hank whirls around to see Connor's brother. Carrying another chicken, and actively plucking the poor thing. "I figured maybe we could avoid it next time if the detective is properly sated beforehand."

Hank looks sternly at the android, and then at Gavin still munching away, and shakes his head. "You know what? Not my problem, it's my day off. Jeffrey can deal with this on his own."

After grabbing his keys and waving goodbye at the weird duo, he makes his way out the front door. Only to run into Jeffrey, who looks at him in surprise until he wiggles his keys in his friend's face. The captain snorts in amusement before making his way towards the bullpen, and Hank decides to linger at the door for a moment.

An entire minute of silence. And then: "GAVIN REED YOU CLEAN UP THIS MESS RIGHT NOW!"

Hank chuckles, taking his leave. Not the worst way to start his day off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Spooktober y'all!!
> 
> Special thanks to yEs and WhatEvenIsGender for giving me the idea over at my other fic :D this one's a slightly different tone than my other one (plus I wanted to experiment with present tense. God it was hard D: ). It'll be snippets of moments divided into three chapters: Immediate, Early, and Late. So this entire chapter happens immediately after the apocalypse, the next one in the first few weeks after the event, and the last chapter happening months later :D
> 
> As for what caused the zombie apocalypse? Well you'll soon find out, but it's gonna be just as stupid as the rest of this is XD


	2. Being the only one to deal with shit sucks

He always feared playing second fiddle to an android.

Maybe fear is too strong of a word. But it's true: years of working hard for his dreams oh-so-easily snatched away by a machine manufactured in a mere day and programmed to be better than him. He's seen it happen to so many people. It's come to the point that he's felt more resigned about it than angry; you can't stop progress, like Elijah always said.

And then the whole Android Demonstration happened, androids refusing to work for humans anymore and wanting to be free to exist. Suddenly he has his job security back, and the thought that maybe, just maybe, he doesn't have to be inferior to an android and they can be equals.

However . . . 

"What do you mean _androids_ are cooler than _zombies_??"

The girl beside him takes a bored sip of her lychee-flavored fruit tea. "Well, yeah. Have you even seen androids? They can do everything!"

"I can eat raw flesh!!"

"I eat meat too, you're not special for being too lazy to cook it."

Gavin splutters in indignation, glaring at the teen as he slams down his milk tea on the cornflower-blue table. "I'm immune to bullets!! I heal quickly!!"

"Androids can replace any of their damaged components quicker than you can heal."

"But-"

"Can you speak 100 different languages?"

"No, but-"

"Can you recite thousands of children's stories?"

"I can make shit up!!"

"Lift I-beams in construction sites without breaking a sweat? Or your fragile zombie arms?"

"Okay first of all _phck you_-"

"Excuse me, is everything all right here?" someone asks in a low voice, standing right next to their table with hands on their hips. Gavin abruptly cuts himself off, suddenly aware of how loud he had been in the quiet milk tea shop. Sheepishly, he raises his head to apologize to the staff, only to pause as he meets Tina's eyes, twinkling in humor.

"Uh . . ."

"Something wrong, officer?" The girl - Susie, if he remembers correctly - casually asks, though she was looking at her phone rather than at said officer.

"I got a complaint that you were 'disrupting the peace' and 'harassing a minor'," Tina quotes, tone serious. The way she eyes his yogurt gleefully says otherwise. Gavin hands her the dessert without another word, watching her eagerly dig in.

"'Disrupting the peace'? Seriously?" Gavin asks skeptically, but Susie butts in.

"'Harassing a minor'?? I'm 21!" She snaps.

Tina shrugs, completely unfazed. "That's what the anonymous caller said. I volunteered because the guy said 'aggressive zombie in a tea shop' and I figured he was talking about you, Gav."

"Ah, so it's that kind of person," Susie says, narrowing her eyes. She jerks a thumb towards the large window looking out into the street. "I suppose that's the guy who called?"

Gavin and Tina both turn to look at the man she was referring to. Said man was leaning against a lamppost, arms crossed, and- yup, glaring at Gavin like he was scum. He was vaguely familiar, and it took Gavin a moment before he recognized him as the guy who got up from his seat and stomped off in a huff as soon as Gavin sat down at his usual table earlier. The fuck was his problem? Clearly he didn't come here often if he didn't know that plenty of zombies frequent this joint.

"I'll deal with him." Susie finishes off the rest of her drink, obnoxiously popping her last boba between her lips, splattering some of the sweet liquid on the table. Gavin scrunches his nose at the mess, thankful he didn't choose to sit opposite her. He never saw the appeal in the popping pearls; too sweet for his liking. He's more of a tapioca guy himself.

He swirls his straw once in his own drink before taking a sip, trapping a few tapioca pearls in his mouth and nibbling on them. Yup, definitely better than popping pearls. The way CL Tea (the shop's full name is "Care, Love, and Tea", which sounded too corny to even think about out loud) cooks their tapiocas is his favorite, with that mild sweetness that goes well with any flavor of milk tea he chooses. Their coffee jelly is also to die for, but the tapiocas are the best in his opinion. The royal milk tea he picked today is sweeter, the type that spreads throughout your mouth as soon as you take a sip and activates your brain's happiness center (or addiction center. Fuck if he knows the difference). 

As soon as Susie gets up, two huge muscular men in black suits from another table finish off their own drinks and stand to flank their charge. Susie gives him a final nod of acknowledgement before stomping off to face Mr. Anonymous Caller, who suddenly looks alarmed and ready to bolt.

Tina lets out a low whistle. "Damn, Gav. That's who you hang out with weekly in here? Who is she, daughter of the fucking mayor?"

Gavin rolls his eyes, wiping the condensation from his glass with a tissue and using it to clean his hands. He gets up too and grabs his drink for takeout since his break is almost over. "Nah, just Jason Graff's niece. And it's hardly hanging out; we just sit at the same table every week and argue about inane things like our generational gap and choice of drink. Anonymous Caller's probably new around here, or else he would've known how often we end up screaming at each other."

"Yeah, I doubt he's ever coming back." Tina snickers. With one last scoop she finishes off the yogurt. "Come on, rat boy, let's go."

"I don't suppose you brought a cruiser?"

"Course not. The precinct's just two blocks away, I'm not wasting my time trying to find a parking space around here." Tina sets off in the direction of the DPD, and Gavin reluctantly follows.

"Sooo, Gavin," Tina says airily, hooking her arm around his after a few steps and marching him down the street. "I've been thinking: do you still need to breathe now that you're kinda dead?"

"Not really. Guess I'm a bit like an android now, huh." Much like any other person who suddenly gained a supernatural status, Gavin tried to test his limits. Besides not needing air and his ability to shrug off bullets, he found that he could identify objects by taste with scary accuracy. Even the things he was sure had never seen the inside of his mouth before; hell, even things he's never laid eyes on. Where the fuck the knowledge came from, he has no idea. He tries not to think about it too much.

Of course, with the newfound abilities came the downsides. Mainly his easily detachable limbs and craving for dead flesh to the point of near-frenzy. Strangely enough, also the ability to set off metal detectors. Oh, and the lack of other android-level abilities (fuck you too, Susie).

"Android? Nah, more like a cheap popsicle-stick figurine held together by paste," She says dismissively, completely ignoring his look of indignation. "But you know what this means?" Tina gleefully asks, almost vibrating in excitement.

". . . I'm almost scared to ask."

"It means," Tina pauses dramatically, "you can go scuba-diving with me, and you have no excuse!"

"Scuba-diving?? I don't have the money for it!"

"Yeah, right! I know who your brother is, bitch, you can't run away from this."

"But I haven't talked to him in ages!"

"You haven't told him about you being a zombie?? Well then now is the perfect time!" Tina grabs his shoulders, gleeful expression doing a better job at pinning him in place more than her hands. "Tell him you're a zombie, wait for him to start crying in regret for being a bad brother, then ask him for some scuba-diving allowance as compensation for not being there for you when you needed him the most!"

"Jesus Christ, Tina, talk about hitting a guy in the balls."

"He's a multibillionnaire, what's a few hundred bucks for scuba lessons to him?" Tina waves his concern off flippantly. "Since you don't need to breathe, you'd be perfect for underwater recon! Think of this as training."

"What is this, Totally Spies?" Gavin snorts. "What was the point of me going through all the hard work of becoming a detective if you’re just gonna make me do all the grunt work?"

"Rude." Tina sticks her tongue out. She's about to add something else to sweeten the deal when Gavin points behind her in a bid for distraction. 

"Hey, what's that commotion?" He interrupts loudly, pointing at a group of people crowding in front of a building. They have holographic picket fences and pitchforks, and are making a hell of a lot of noise, so either they were holding a rally or there was a movie shoot going on.

"What's with the pitchforks?" Tina asks, scuba-diving all but forgotten. "Bit medieval don't you think? They've even got realistic prop body parts skewered on them!"

On closer look, Gavin realized that they were not, in fact, prop body parts, but instead actual human limbs still slowly oozing blood. It would be a lot more concerning if stepping closer to the crowd didn't also reveal that the protesters had missing limbs themselves.

He can add that now on his list of zombie abilities: _can be used as Halloween decor._

Gavin taps the shoulder of the closest woman on the fringes of the crowd, holding up her own severed arm on a stick and waving it in the air. "Hey, uh, what's all this about?"

The woman turns to him with a toothy smile, looking quite savage with the black blood coming out of her mouth. God knows if that was also fake or if she just really needs to visit a dentist (a zombie dentist?). "We're protesting unfair workplace conditions against zombies."

"Unfair workplace conditions?" Gavin blinks in surprise. "How do you mean?"

"Well, fellow zombie," she slings her arm-on-a-stick over his shoulders in a close approximation of a friendly gesture. "Haven't you noticed how different your coworkers treat you? More fearfully? More disgusted? More . . . trigger-happy?"

Gavin doesn't shrug her arm off, too intrigued in what she was saying. People do seem more nervous around him at work. Some of them go out of their way to avoid crossing paths with him. Just the rank and file though, not the ones he actually knows and cares about. If anything, he likes the feeling of being able to strike the fear of god in his coworkers' hearts, an ability he lost with the appearance of very stabby, knife-wielding androids like Nines.

But that doesn't mean he doesn't understand what she's talking about. The first few days into the Zombie Rapture (he really dislikes that term. Why not just call it 'Zombie Apocalypse'? Why is 'Zombie Rapture' the trending hashtag??), police departments everywhere were swamped with calls about shootings, because too many people with too many guns watched too many zombie movies. With their newfound bullet immunity, the zombies didn't stay down permanently, but god does it fuck you up knowing your own family and friends would shoot you at the drop of a hat. (It also makes Gavin wonder what would actually kill him. Movies and books say bullet to the head, but like hell he was testing that out.)

"I guess. Not outright, though."

The woman hums, looking him up and down. "You a detective?"

"Yeah." Gavin blinks. "Wait, how do you know that?"

"I see you every once in a while around the area. Hard to miss with that jacket. Plus you're hanging out with Ms. Cop Chick here," she nods at his right. Gavin is suddenly reminded that he's here with Tina when she laughs in response.

"Oh."

"Maybe you don't see it because you're high on the ladder, but we've been getting harassed by our bosses, saying that we should be paid less since as zombies we have less needs and 'most probably won't die of hunger'." She rolls her eyes. "Hell, some of our fellow zombies have been kicked out of work because of supposed hygiene issues! They think we're dirty, and it's not just because we have a tendency to go to pieces. It's not like being a zombie means we're gonna stop taking showers. We're not even infectious!"

"Has that been proven?" Gavin wonders out loud.

"Oh yeah, someone made a Youtube video of it. The only thing biting humans does is give them staph infections, not zombism. Besides, we all turned into zombies at the same time, like some Y2K scenario."

"Like a what?"

Zombie Lady squints at him. "Am I _that_ old?"

"Sounds like you need a union," Tina pipes up, interrupting their tangent. Gavin rolls his eyes at her.

"That's your solution to every workplace issue," he snarks.

"No, no, she's right," Zombie Lady says, using her arm-on-a-stick to poke him. "We do have a zombie union in our office, that's why we're here. In fact, you should start your own zombie union at the police department! After all, you're a detective, it would be easier for you to get it going than, say, someone just starting out at the force."

"Hey, Gavin?" Tina interrupts in a whisper, nudging him in the side and flashing him the time displayed on her phone screen. "We should go, break's over and Fowler's gonna notice you're not at your desk."

"Shit. I'll, uh, think about it. Good luck with your rally," he calls out as he follows Tina away. The woman waves the arm back at him in farewell before returning to her crowd. The last he sees of her is her arm high-fiving fellow arms-on-sticks.

They jog the rest of the way back to work in easy silence. Just as they reached the glass doors leading to the lobby of the DPD, Tina speaks up. "You really gonna do it?"

"Eh, I don't know. Unions require a lot of people, right? I haven't seen another zombie at the precinct besides me." Gavin shrugs.

"Yeah, and you're gonna have to talk to them, see if they're up for having a union election. Oh, and you're gonna need to study up on union issues and labor laws," Tina adds, scrolling through her phone.

Gavin squints at the screen. "Is that a wikiHow article??"

"It's informative!" Tina retorts defensively. Her phone buzzes with a notification, which she immediately taps on. "Ugh. My partner just texted that we have a crime scene to secure. Guess I'll catch you later. Remember to call your brother and schmooze money off of him!"

"I make no promises!" Gavin calls out after her. He shakes his head in amusement then heads to his desk, determined to wait it out for a few days in the hopes that Tina forgets wanting to have a scuba adventure.

In the end, Tina still managed to drag him off to go scuba-diving over the weekend. AFTER forcing him to call Elijah. And listen to him cry in guilt. And receive more cash than he would have ever gotten from his death insurance.

"Rich people deal with their guilt by throwing money at the problem," Tina says like it was the most obvious thing in the world when he asks her how the fuck she knew his brother better than him.

She was also right about the scuba lessons. He did learn something: mainly, the fact that zombism did NOT give him miraculous swimming skills.

He sinks well enough, though, much to Tina's glee.

\----

"So, what do we have here?" Hank asks Chris as soon as he enters the doorway.

Chris shoots him a shaky smile in greeting as he leads the lieutenant to the scene, which has Hank frowning. Chris has surely seen plenty of dead bodies by now to be affected like this. Is the crime scene that gruesome?

"The victim is a Mr. Nathan Marquez, 46 years old, a banker. The neighbors called the police after hearing multiple gunshots from his house. There are two bullet wounds on his torso and one through his head. His brain was splattered all over the floor." Chris shoots a nervous glance towards the next room, where some soft, strange sounds were coming from. "Emphasis on 'was'."

Hank follows his gaze, confused. What did he mean 'was'-?

The sight that greets him has him swearing loudly as he realizes that the weird sounds he heard was actually wet, chewing noises.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Gavin! Stop eating our goddamn evidence! Didn't your android fucking feed you today??"

Gavin hisses at him in reply, sounding very much like a cat. Or a goblin.

. . . sounding very much like the cat-goblin that he is.

Vaguely, Hank registers just how disgusting and horrifying it is to watch his coworker munching on someone's brain (or, well, he isn't 'munching' on it anymore so much as he is trying to suck it out of the bullet hole through the guy's head), but it's immediately overpowered by a more pressing thought: mainly, their rapidly depleting, highly important evidence.

"What the hell, why isn't anyone restraining him??" Hank demands, whirling around on Chris.

"I tried," Chris immediately protests, "but Gavin's stronger than me when he's hungry and those guys," he points accusingly towards forensics, cowering in a corner, "refuse to help me 'cause they're scared Gav would eat THEIR brains." He lowers his voice and mutters, "a bunch of weenies if you ask me."

Hank spares the weenies a glare, internally agreeing with Chris' assessment. He understands the fear, because who wouldn't be at least wary of someone eating a corpse? But it had been weeks since the End of the World, or whatever the fuck people called it, and Gavin or any of the other zombies had yet to attack anyone for their living flesh. The worst he's ever done is hiss and glare at them, and one time trying to run away with the whole corpse before they managed to tackle him to the ground. You'd think these guys weren't cops.

Guess it's up to him, Hanks sighs to himself.

"Shoo!" Hank yells, waving his arms around in dismissal. "Go be a good detective and stop destroying our crime scene." Gavin just glares back at him, continuing to gnaw fruitlessly at the victim's head. Thankfully, being a zombie or whatever he is now doesn't give him a functionally strong jaw, or else Hank would be a lot less calm about being around someone who'd classify him as dinner.

What could he do, short of attacking his own subordinate? Hank slowly reaches for his gun, wondering if he can bluff about shooting Gavin without getting reported for it. Probably not, considering his newfound bullet immunity (or was it death immunity? Yeah no, not gonna think about that now), but Hank could still try for lack of better options.

On the way down, his hand brushes against his pocket, and the lieutenant suddenly remembers the small bottle he bought yesterday on a whim. With a new plan in mind, Hank grabs the bottle instead, and before anyone in the room could react he points it at Gavin and presses the nozzle.

Gavin jerks back, hissing loudly at the spray of liquid hitting his face. He tries to wipe it off, but Hank spritzes him again several times in succession. The hisses taper off into whines as Gavin finally- finally!- backs off.

The zombie swipes at his face like a cat-goblin receiving an impromptu bath and viciously mumbles, "like we'll even have a use for that as evidence."

"It's the principle of the matter!" Hank snaps back.

Gavin glares sulkily at Hank for a long moment before he stalks off into another room to finally do his fucking job.

Hank sighs in relief, waving at forensics to do their own damn work and collect whatever evidence was still viable. He takes a step back, rubbing at his face as he wonders if Connor would let him drink a beer tonight, when he feels eyes on him. He glances over to see Chris gawking at him, eyes shining in awe.

"How did you- what- what's in that?" he asks, pointing at the spray bottle. "Is it holy water?" he continues in a hushed tone.

Hank simply rotates the bottle and brings it up to Chris' face, showing him the words 'HAND SANITIZER: WITH 70% ISOPROPYL ALCOHOL" printed on it. Chris gapes at him again, this time with significantly less awe and more disbelief.

By the next day, the news has spread and officers start carrying their own hand sanitizers.

\----

In hindsight, Nines should have seen it coming.

They had just returned to the precinct after capturing an elusive murder suspect. Gavin sustained multiple stab wounds from their faceoff, injuries that would have been a lot more concerning had he still been human. As it were, the detective just seemed irritated over letting Stabby the Clown's Younger Brother (his choice of words, not Nines') get the better of him.

He had insisted on being the one to manhandle the perp into the holding cell, and Nines had let him, knowing full well Gavin wanted to do it just so he could "accidentally" kick at the man's ankles as they marched through the bullpen. Abuse of power it may have been, but the suspect had scratched Nines' chassis during their faceoff, so he was feeling petty enough to turn a blind eye to his partner's antics. As he trailed behind the two, something nagged at him, so Nines performed a preconstruction of the scene in front of him and saw that the suspect would try to break free at some point. But Gavin would stop Mr. Stabby Junior, just as he stopped many others before.

His first mistake was assuming that Stabby the Clown's Younger Brother was also a clown like the first one. He isn't sure why he thought that in the first place; the man isn't wearing clown makeup, isn't even _related_ to the first one, and they found him hiding out at a laundry shop, not a circus. He blames Gavin for putting the idea in his head with his silly nickname.

His second mistake was forgetting that Gavin had weak zombie arms.

Halfway through the bullpen, the handcuffed stabby suspect suddenly yanked his arms down, breaking free of Gavin's hold and probably dislocating his arms for the nth time. And then, in a show of athletic prowess he had given no indication of possessing earlier, Stabby the _Trapeze Artist_ did a backflip and kicked Gavin's jaw. The resounding loud crack and Gavin's yelp of pain got Nines moving to tackle the suspect to the ground (and maybe purposely slamming his head hard into the floor. Maybe.)

And so Nines ends up being the one to drag the suspect the rest of the way into the holding cell. He shoves the perp inside hard enough to make him stumble and fall. After a brief moment of consideration, Nines shows the man a certain hand gesture and mutters "bitch" like Gavin often does.

Walking back into the main area of the precinct, Nines sees that Gavin is glumly poking at his loose and cracked jaw, viscous blood oozing out from his mouth (did he bite his tongue?) and dripping to the floor. The commotion earlier alerted many of the officers, and though a lot of them had started walking back to their stations, a small group lingers to stare at the detective.

"Hey, Reed!" Someone from the crowd - Officer Tucker - jeers. "Nice grip back there!"

A few of the officers snickers. Gavin shoots them an unimpressed look and brings up his middle finger. He looks like he wants to say something scathing, but his jaw isn't exactly in the condition to do much. In the meantime, Nines heads over to their desks and takes out the first aid kit he's been keeping there since the start of the Zombie Rapture incident. With how often the detective keeps dislocating joints and how temporary said injuries usually are, they've taken to keeping their own kit instead of constantly depleting the DPD's emergency supplies.

"What can you even do as a zombie? Surely there has to be some benefit to it," Officer Tucker adds. Nines can't tell if he's being mocking or just curious. Maybe a mix of both.

Gavin gives them a slow blink, looking for all the world like he has no intention of answering. And then in one swift motion, he rips off his jaw, easily tearing the flesh still holding it in place, and chucks it at the group. The officers start screaming at the bloody mandible and run away, much like ants would scatter from a drop of rain. By the time the severed jaw lands and skitters across the floor, the bullpen is mostly empty.

A sigh echoes through the now-empty room. The captain has his head in his palm, and when he finally looks up he's wearing that 'I am so done with life' expression reserved for particularly bullheaded witnesses. Or detectives. 

"Gavin Reed . . ." he warns.

"Clean up the mess, I know," Gavin responds. Or at least, tries to. It comes out more as a gurgle, with the lack of lower jaw and and his tongue drooping out and the blood left in his mouth and everything, but the captain seems to have gotten the message and gives him a nod before heading back into his office.

Nines picks up the jaw from the floor, eyeing the trail of blood left along its flight path. He steps closer to Gavin and clicks the mandible back into place, mindful of the bleeding tongue lolling out, and earning him a wince for his efforts. The flesh below the cheeks is all torn up, teeth peeking through the holes left by the tears, but it would heal. The android is about to start bandaging his human when Gavin snatches the cloth from his hand.

"I'll do it. Can't let you do all the work," Gavin says cheekily, trying to hide another wince from moving his tongue. He's grateful though, grateful for Nines helping him out, and Nines knows this because . . .

Nines doesn't reply immediately, staring at his palm. He can still feel where Gavin's fingertips brushed over his synthetic skin when he took the bandages, a lingering tingling sensation where his skin made contact. This isn't the first time it's happened, but Nines still isn't any closer to figuring out why it keeps happening ever since the man became a zombie, or why he experiences fleeting positive emotions when they touch. 

He has some theories, ones born out of an intensive search through the internet. One is that he's in love. All the sources he's looked through say that love gives you a fuzzy feeling of warmth in the presence of a loved one. While he can see the appeal of the idea, it doesn't explain why he can feel Gavin's emotions. He knows for a fact that it isn't coming from his own systems; it feels somewhat similar to making an interface with a deviant under extreme emotional stress, except the sensation is a lot more muted and more positive. 

The other theory is that zombies generate and conduct static electricity better than humans. Human organs like the brain function through electrical signals, so perhaps his zombie flesh conducts his thoughts through those same signals. It's a ridiculous idea, he knows, but really what about this entire situation isn't ridiculous? If anything, the idea that Gavin's new static electricity is messing up his sensors sounds a lot more plausible than just being in love. Not that he has anything against love.

"I'll get the mop, detective," he eventually replies, setting aside the strange occurrence for future contemplation. Gavin has wrapped the bandages too many times around his face and head, looking more like a mummy cosplay than someone with a jaw fracture. He tries not to smile at the sight.

"Aw, thanks babe."

Nines' lips twitch up.

\----

There's a dead body right next to him. It looks like it's been through a lot: slash marks on the legs, burns on the torso, and at least three stab wounds from three different weapons. But the worst damage is on the face, which is completely caved in. The coroner is trying to piece together the skull, taping the cracked face plates as best as she could. One of the corpse's eyeballs is in a jar submerged in formalin, while the other is on the occupied gurney looking a bit shriveled up from being so exposed. Another is rolling around on the floor, leaving a wet trail behind it-

Wait, no, that's his own eyeball. False alarm. 

"Hey, could you pick up my eye?" Gavin says, watching the organ intently with his remaining eye. Technically he could pick it up himself, but he doesn't trust his depth perception all too well right now.

Sally, his favorite pie-making coroner (and, if he has to be honest, the only coroner he knows by name), picks it up from the tiled floor and places it in his outstretched hand. "I hope you're washing that before shoving it back in."

"I can't. It keeps falling off. I came over to see if you'd know what to do."

"Me?" Sally frowns at him, dropping her futile project on the slab as she finally gives him her full attention. "Isn't that a job for the office physician next door?"

"He says he has no idea what to do with zombie body parts." Gavin shrugs helplessly. "Usually shoving them back in works for me, but this one just won't reattach so I don't know what to do either."

"Huh. All right, let me check." The coroner peels off her bloody nitrile gloves and tosses them into the yellow trashbin, then heads to the large sink and washes her hands. Once done, she pulls on a new pair of gloves and plucks the eyeball from his palm, turning it around in her hand for a few seconds before aligning it with his empty socket.

"Well no wonder it doesn't stick, it's atrophied!" Sally exclaims, staring incredulously at the too-small globe. "The hell did you wait this long to get help for it? This is at least months worth of irreversible damage!"

"I didn't wait for shit, it fell off literally just a couple of hours ago!" What had happened was Gavin was minding his own business at his desk, trying his best not to eavesdrop on Chris Miller's very passionate phonecall with his spouse on- well, Gavin isn't actually sure. It was either about vegetable rights or the weirdest kind of foreplay he's ever witnessed. He's leaning more towards the latter because seriously, who the fuck just grabs their phone out of nowhere and starts ranting about the discrimination vegetables face in the supermarket??

Anyway, he was busy NOT getting distracted by vegetable issues when suddenly he felt a tearing sensation behind his right eye. There was a sharp pain for a brief moment and then it disappeared, along with his eyesight. He hadn't panicked at first, because usually leaving his body parts where they should be led to them eventually reattaching themselves.

Except this time it didn't reattach. It got worse. A lot worse. Until it rolled right out of his skull and onto his paperwork. So he went to the one person he knew who semi-regularly handled eyeballs.

Sally drops the eye back into his hands and pulls apart his eyelids, shining a penlight into the hollow socket. "Huh."

". . . 'huh', what?"

She flicks the penlight's switch off and pockets it. "Well it looks like your eye being dead isn't the problem. As weird as it sounds, you're growing a new one right on the tip of your optic nerve. Congrats on the bouncing, baby eyeball."

". . . Wh-why?? I've got a perfectly good eyeball right here!" Gavin waves his poor eye in the air. At this point, it barely even resembles an eye anymore, more like a freakish large ugly raisin, but it was perfectly good two hours ago!

"Don't ask me, ask your weird zombie biology why you're regenerating like an lizard. I mean, it kinda defeats the idea of being 'dead', doesn't it? Care to share any other zombie abilities?"

"I can taste evidence now."

"Gross."

"No, I mean in a Connor way. But less 'licking walls' and more 'licking dead people'."

Sally scrutinizes him with the same focus that she gave the other corpse, like she's about to start dissecting him on the spot. Gavin takes a step back, just in case. "Really? Now that's interesting. I've never heard of zombies that can do that in fiction."

"Maybe because zombies don't tend to talk much in them."

"True. But regrowing body parts and obtaining enhanced taste receptors, it almost sounds like . . . like . . ." The coroner abruptly stops, eyes wide, staring off into nothing. She stays like that for a long moment, processing whatever revelation she just had, which has Gavin a bit concerned.

"Everything okay?" He ventures to ask.

The question causes her to unfreeze, and she immediately strides towards a cabinet at the other end of the room. "Have you, by any chance, had any prolonged, unusual contact with a machine before the End of the World?" She asks, voice slightly muffled as she rummages frantically through the shelves.

There is a long pause as Gavin tries to make sense of her question. "Uh, no, I have not had sex with an android if that's what you're asking-"

". . . I was actually referring more to 'accidentally dropped a toaster in the bathtub while you were in it', or 'stuck your finger inside a prototypical hospital machine while you were soaking wet from the rain', but . . . good for you? I guess?" Sally shakes her head, then resumes her search.

"Wait, what was that second bit-?"

"A theory. Hypothesis. Whatever," She mumbles, then makes a triumphant sound once she finds what she was looking for. She returns to his side, holding a small box labeled 'microscope slides' and a q-tip in a test tube of water that she pockets. "I'll tell you if I turn out to be right, but for now I want your eyeball. It'll disintegrate soon at the rate it's deteriorating, so it's not like you'll have a use for it anymore."

Gavin reluctantly hands it over, lamenting his idea of scaring Chris later by hiding it in his desk drawer.

"Thank you. Now next-," Sally brandishes a scalpel, the sharp blade glinting dangerously from the overhead lights, "-I want your tongue."

Gavin immediately stumbles back, ready to run for his undead life, but - curse his feeble zombie arms! - he was no match for her arm shooting out to grab his in a sudden iron grip.

"No, let go! This is- this is physical assault! Mutilation!" . . . desecration? He tries twisting his arm out of her grasp, the scene feeling very much familiar except for the newfound threat of getting his tongue chopped off.

"Yeesh, calm down! I'm just scraping off a bit on the top, get some of your taste buds. They grow back in normal humans, I'm sure they'll grow back that much more quickly for you!"

Gavin pauses in his struggles. "Really?" He asks warily.

"Yes!" Sally says, exasperated, as she finally lets go of his arm to pull out a glass slide from her pocketed box. Her other hand grabs his tongue before he can react and pulls it out far enough for her to press the glass slide onto it, presumably collecting a sample. She sets the slide aside, then takes out the scalpel again and quickly scrapes off a thin layer of his tongue.

All this, in case anyone is wondering, is done while she's holding his tongue out against his will. God, she has even worse bedside manners than him, no wonder she chose to be a coroner.

Finally, she lets him go, just to place her latest sample on another slide. Gavin immediately retracts his tongue, feeling a bit protective over it. His concern over his tongue meant he was totally unprepared for her prying his eyelids apart and swabbing the tip of his new baby eyeball with the q-tip.

"OW! You said that was it!"

"No I didn't." She sets aside her samples and peels off her gloves again, giving the impression that she's finally done taking bits and pieces off of him. He still doesn't let his guard down. "I want to get as many samples as I can, and unless you're willing to let me take a punch biopsy of your tongue-"

"PHCK NO-"

"-then this is the least I can get." Sally walks towards the fridge in the corner of the room, where coroners are supposed to store delicate samples of chemicals and body parts and whatnot. The fact that she pulls out an entire pie tells him that the DPD coroners are complete freaks who have no regard for food safety.

"Here, a reward for being so cooperative." Gavin automatically hold his arms out for the large pie, mouth already watering in anticipation despite his earlier tribulation. "It's a bummer you can't appreciate my apple pies as much anymore, but I figured this is my chance to practice my meat pies. I want a full review sent to my email by tomorrow, okay? I'll look over it while I'm analyzing these samples with as many stains as I can steal from forensics, see what kind of bacteria lives in your mouth, use some magnets-"

"Magnets? What, to check my iron levels?" Gavin jokes.

"Something like that," is all she says on the topic, before dismissing him. "Now go skedaddle unless you're willing to donate something else in the interest of science."

Gavin skedaddles as fast as his zombie legs can take him. At least he has his pie.

\----

Nines knocks on the door three times, and waits. The sound of multiple locks and chains being opened echoed from the other side, along with muffled cursing as one of the locks seemed to have gotten stuck. After 34 seconds, the last lock finally clicked open, and Gavin's head pops out of the door.

"You made it."

Nines blinks. "I told you I'd be by at 8 PM."

"Right. Sorry. Lost track of time." Gavin lets the door swing open, waving the android inside. "Come on in."

Nines steps over the threshold, letting his eyes roam around the apartment. The living room connects with the kitchen, separated by marble island. A short hallway leads off into another room, presumably Gavin's bedroom. The apartment is very clean; the only mess Nines can see is in the kitchen sink, where Gavin hasn't gotten around cleaning his very bloody plate. And the couch, where something seems to have been shoved quickly under the cushions, pillows haphazardly piled on top to hide whatever it was.

Nines is, of course, very curious.

"So," Gavin says, clapping his hands together. "First things first, say hi to Patty."

Nines looks to where Gavin is pointing and spots a very fluffy feline lounging on the armrest of the couch. The cat gives him a slow blink.

"Hello," Nines greets. The cat doesn't even deign to give him another blink. ". . . my name is Nines. I am an RK900 model working at the Detroit Police Department. Gavin is my partner."

The cat slowly gets up, jumping gracefully onto the floor and sauntering towards him. She rubs her body against his pants, weaving through his legs and leaving white fur all over. Once she seems satisfied with her handiwork, the feline steps back, meowing in a screeching tone that Nines swears he's heard Gavin use before.

"Did I . . . do it right?" Nines looks to Gavin uncertainly. Gavin snorts in laughter, grabbing him by the sleeve and leading him to the couch.

"Believe me, that was perfect. If she didn't like you, she wouldn't have blessed your pants. Next time, don't wear any black, because she will always find a way to make it white."

Nines hums, mentally weighing the pros and cons of having a fluffy cat curl up on his lap. On one hand, he'll need to buy a lint roller if he wants to come into work looking as pristine as always. On the other hand, fluffy cat.

"So! Now that you're deviant, I'm legally obligated to introduce you to 'culture'." Gavin says, flopping down gracelessly next to him and switching on the television.

"Says who?"

"The daring duo, of course."

Nines watches Gavin scroll through selections of films, looking unsatisfied with the choices and cursing Connor and Lieutenant Anderson under his breath. He glances at the thing peeking out of the couch cushions, hastily hidden away.

"We don't have to."

"No, no, we should! I'm sure whatever I pick is going to be better than what those two are going to make you watch. It'll be something full of android discourse from ye old days, knowing Hank, and you don't need that when you already know all about the topic."

"I mean that we can just watch whatever you want, not what you think would be perfect for me. You were about to watch something else tonight, weren't you?"

Gavin shoots Nines a confused look, before spotting the DVD the android had dug out from the couch. He hesitates for a moment, seeming to debate with himself before sighing.

"I hope you know what you're getting into," Gavin warns.

"I'm sure I can handle whatever it is," Nines says confidently.

One hour and 38 minutes in, Nines finds himself devoting a lot more of his processing power to watching Gavin than the movie itself. Gavin, who is so wholly enraptured by the main actor that every piece of popcorn he tries to shove in his mouth misses, and now there was a pile of it on the floor with his cat Patty too full to steal any of it anymore.

The movie itself isn't bad, not that he had enough experience with films to have much of an opinion on its cinematographic value, but it definitely piqued his interest. He decides to inquire about it just as the scene changes and Gavin sighs forlornly at the absence of the main character.

"Gavin, why are we watching a movie in Korean?" is what he wants to ask, but he barely makes it past the first word before Gavin screams, jumping off the couch and scrambling to hide behind it. After a few tense seconds he slowly peeks over the edge, wide eyes fixed on the android.

Nines is utterly bewildered. He didn't think it was a scary movie; all the handholding onscreen and giggles from his couchmate pointed to it being a romantic comedy. But perhaps he misinterpreted it?

Once Gavin seems to register Nines' presence, he lets out a sigh of relief. "Holy shit, I forgot you were there," he whines, getting up on shaky legs.

Nines glances back towards the television. "Is watching a movie in a language you don't speak that captivating?" He asks, highly confused.

"Hey, who says I don't know Korean? I didn't go through the Duolingo Owl's perpetual judgment for years just so you can assume that," Gavin argues. "How else am I going to understand movies and stare at Lee Gwan-Ho's beautiful face at the same time?"

"Who is he?" Nines asks, knowing he can look up the information but wanting to know Gavin's opinion on the man. It seems to be the right move, because the detective lights up, pauses the movie, and spends the next 12 minutes gushing over the actor.

"-and he has a great singing voice, like god, you should have seen him on his world tour "Visiting Heavens" in 2032. But his acting is definitely the best, he plays the villain roles so well and he always looks so dashing no matter what costume they put him in-"

"Wait," Nines interrupts, an epiphany coming to him. "Are you saying that you find this man highly attractive?"

"Uh, yeah? Was I not being obvious?"

Nines frowns, trying to fit the new information with what he already knows about the detective. "But you also find Lieutenant Anderson attractive."

"More like 'Hunk Anderson', amirite?" Gavin grins, wagging his eyebrows. "I mean have you seen those arms? Woof."

". . . but you think Connor is attractive too?"

"Yeah, like a twink. I think you're hot too, but in a different way if that's what you're worried about." He shrugs.

". . . Thanks?" Nines says, unsure what Gavin means. He and the RK800 look exactly the same, don't they?

"What are you getting at, Nines?" Gavin asks, taking a sip from his milk tea. He's starting to think the detective buys milk tea in bulk from CL Tea and hides them in the fridge to be consumed on his days off.

"I thought humans have a 'type'. That's what Officer Chen told me when I asked her why the Police Calendar needs a lot of officers."

Gavin pauses, staring at him in shock. "Police Calendar? As in, a DPD Police Calendar? We have one??"

"Yes?"

"And Tina didn't tell me???" Gavin screeches, looking highly offended. What the phck!"

"I'm . . . sure she didn't mean to hide it? They only included officers in the calendar, voting for the 'hottest' among them." Nines tilts his head in curiosity. "Did you want to buy one when it comes out?"

"Ugh. I dunno, maybe? They're probably going to pick a bunch of greenhorns though," Gavin grumbles, taking his drink again and chewing the straw. "If they're actually hot, then yes."

Nines nods and picks up his own drink, lemon-flavored thirium. He realizes that he hasn't actually tried it, too engrossed with the movie and their conversation. Would Gavin take offense?

"Regarding your question, there's one thing about me you forgot to take into account in your analysis," Gavin says, relaxing into the couch after his earlier outburst. He takes another long sip of his milk tea.

"What's that?" Nines takes a sip of his own drink too, emulating the detective.

"I'm a hoe."

Gain cackles loudly at the sight of Nines accidentally snorting his thirium in surprise and trying in vain to cough it out.

\----

Gavin stares wearily at the toilet bowl for several long moments. Thankfully the water is clean, the object of his attention floating around merrily without a care, but god it is way too early to deal with this shit.

He takes his phone from the sink where he had placed it down mere seconds ago with a sigh and brought up his last chat with Tina, fingers flying across the digital keyboard.

5:43 AM  
_Me: 'Tina my dick fell off'_

5:45 AM  
_Tina:_ '🤣🤣'

5:46 AM  
_Tina:_ '✊💦💦👀?'

5:46 AM  
_Me: 'I WAS PEEING JFC'_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By Gavin's definition, we are all hoes XD There's an OC, but only because the game didn't introduce any science-y DPD personnel. She won't be a main character :D
> 
> I am so sorry for the delay!! Beyond the two months, I know I said I was finishing this last weekend but with the volcano exploding class schedules got shifted around :'(
> 
> Writing this chapter has made me realize that I have no idea what "milk tea shops" are called in other countries. Does the milk tea equivalent of Starbucks exist in the West? Should I be using the term "milk tea shops" like for coffee shops or "milk tea houses" like for tea houses?
> 
> What created the zombies? Hint: zombism is more Hepatitis A than Hepatitis B :)


	3. Some things are really better left unknown

"You know, if someone told me about human-machine hybrids, the first thing that would come to mind would be cyborgs. Not zombies."

Everyone in the break room murmurs in agreement with Chris's statement, eyes fixed onto the wall-mounted television. KNC News is on, and Rosanna Cartland is delivering breaking news.

"For months, scientists all over the world have been trying to figure out zombism, the strange phenomenon that has afflicted the lives of an estimated 1.5 billion people. With their conflicting state of decaying undeath and ability to regenerate, plus other unusual features, zombies have left zombie-media enthusiasts everywhere baffled. Little is known about the disease beyond the fact that it seems to be non-transmissible through any known means, but a recent discovery by a coroner from Detroit has the scientific community in an uproar. Here with us today is Miss Sally Brant of the Detroit Police Department.”

The camera pans out to reveal a familiar woman sitting opposite the reporter. She smiles and gives a polite wave at the camera. “Thank you, Rosanna. Before anything, I’d like to give a shoutout to my zombie detective friend. Hope you enjoy the pie!”

Gavin gives an affirmative grunt as he chows down on said pie (‘Mystery Meat’ the label says, but it tastes suspiciously like well-seasoned roadkill. He should know). A couple of officers sneak glances at him from where he took possession of an entire table at the back, but their attention is readily hooked by Sally when she starts talking. 

“The problem is that we’ve been looking at zombism from a biological perspective, looking for prions or amyloids in the brain like it’s some form of Mad Cow Disease or Kuru. But the thing is, no microbiological cause would have synchronized activation with such machine-like precision. Now, the most mystifying part of this affliction in my opinion - besides the whole ‘dead people coming back to life’, of course - is the enhanced sense of taste. So enhanced that they can even identify organic objects they’ve never encountered before. How can that be? Well, as Miss Cartland here mentioned, I’m a coroner at the Detroit Police Department Central Station, so I’ve worked closely with the famous RK800 android detective. Whenever he investigates crime scenes and evidence comes into contact with his sampling receptors, he accesses a database that gives him information on it.” 

Gavin eyes the android to his left. “You do?”

Connor nods without looking away from the screen. “Cyberlife collaborated with various government and private agencies to compile the evidence database, so it’s very thorough. But as far as I know, only Nines and I have access to it besides Cyberlife itself. It contains detailed, sensitive information about androids, after all.”

“You mean like how you can tell whose blue blood is on the crime scene?”

“Among other things, yes.” Connor shushes him before he could ask anything else as Sally resumes speaking.

“When my zombie detective friend mentioned that he could do the same, it got me thinking. So I gathered some tissue samples with consent-”

Gavin snorts into his pie.

“-and tried examining them for biomechanical components. It took me awhile - had to borrow a powerful microscope and everything - but it all paid off. Because guess what I found?” She leaned forward in her seat, eyes sparkling. “Nanomachines. Nanomachines in every organ, every bodily fluid, _everywhere_. From there it’s just a matter of deductive reasoning: Zombie blood is so dark because nanomachines have taken over and replaced the red blood cells; since these robots can keep the body functioning on their own, there’s no need to keep organs like the heart working, hence the extreme bradycardia or even asystole; hell, it even explains why zombies are paramagnetic!”

There’s a sensation of a small, flat object being pressed against his temple. Gavin doesn’t even have to look to know that it’s the refrigerator magnet, he just mock-glares at the officers snickering at him and waves his fork menacingly.

Nanomachines, huh? The revelation is definitely surprising, but he can't say he never expected something else was up with his zombism. There's always that strange, lowkey vibration he feels under his skin, similar enough to the side effects of caffeine he's endured for most of his adult life that it never really alarmed him. It always gets stronger when a body part falls off, like the pins and needles of a leg falling asleep, except apparently the pins and needles are manufacturing him a new leg.

“What would you say the implications of this discovery would be?”

“Well, more in-depth research is being done right now by better experts with better equipment than me, so anything I say would be mere speculation on my part. But I believe that these machines were actually meant to ‘repair’ humans, not kill them. Like in nanomedicine. I mean, if you’re going to try and make a cyborg, they should be functionally better than regular humans, not worse. What’s the point of having such weak joints that a single slap can detach your entire hand?”

The clattering of his fork on the table is drowned out by the thud of his detached hand and the sound of giggling. Gavin narrows his eyes at Tina, who just blinks at him innocently as if she didn’t just smack his hand clean off his wrist. He retaliates by punching her shoulder with his bleeding stump.

“Hey!” She yelps, quickly grabbing a tissue and trying to wipe the black blood off with little success. Now that he looks closely at it, there does seem to be something moving within the too-viscous fluid. “Don’t smear your robot-infected blood on my shirt, think of what it’ll do to my washing machine!”

“Then wash it by hand,” Gavin shoots back.

Sally continues. "Which means that something in this messed-up cyborg experiment must have gone wrong along the way. Perhaps the nanomachines gained sentience, and decided they'd rather run the infected bodies on their own? Or hell, maybe this is a zombie experiment, and it went wrong because the bots decided to let everyone have perfectly functioning brains despite taking over everything else."

"Do you think there's a chance for a cure?"

Sally shakes her head. "Not unless you plan on murdering a billion people, no. Nanomachines are meant to exist in the human body in harmony with the host's cells, no way you can separate them from one another after activation. But I'm sure whoever's responsible for this mess will be brought to justice once the nanomachines have been ID'd."

“_Do_ you want a cure, Gavin?”

“Hm?” Gavin turns his attention from his now-reattached hand to Connor, who is looking at him with curiosity. “Uh, I dunno. I guess it would be nice, but it’s not like I particularly hate being a zombie. Cyborg-zombie. Whatever. It’s actually kind of cool, for the most part.”

"Like being a shitty, discount android detective?" Chris teases.

"Oh, ha, ha." Gavin rolls his eyes exaggeratedly. He belatedly realizes that he probably shouldn't have done that when his left eyeball slips out and falls in the pie tin with a squelch, drawing various exclamations of disgust from his peers. "Keep talking like that and I'll mail you a body part."

Tina gasps in delight. "Dick in a box??"

"The phck- NO! PHCK NO!! EW!!"

In between the break room's laughter, his own yelling, and KNC News' closing remarks, Gavin barely hears Connor's mumblings beside him. But he's fairly sure he heard 'Cyberlife' and 'at fault?' come out of the android's mouth multiple times.

Thinking back on it much later in the comfort of his bed, it hits him that Cyberlife may very well be behind his zombie affliction. Elijah offhandedly mentioned wanting his company to dabble in nanotechnology many years ago, though Gavin never kept up with news to see if they actually did. His half-brother is probably feeling super sorry right now after watching that broadcast.

. . . if Gavin calls now, he could probably get him to replace his old car with a brand new, top of the line vehicle. Hooray, rich people guilt!

\----

"Connor! What the fuck do you think you're doing??"

The android smiles up at Hank, LED blinking. "Good afternoon, lieutenant. The victim’s corpse is in the other room, cause of death is blunt force trauma. I believe our killer is her lover, so I’m requesting the precinct now to send in officers to take her in for questioning-”

“I don’t care about _that_ dead body, I’m talking about this one!” Hank exclaims, waving his hands at the dead body lying prone on the ground in front of the android. Said dead body rudely growls at him before returning to his highly-questionable meal. “Stop feeding him! What the fuck is he even eating??”

Connor's hesitation to answer proves his initial horrifying assumption. "Oh my fucking god you're feeding our victim to Reed."

"Well of course it sounds bad when you say it like _that_,” Connor says with a pout.

“Oh _I’m sorry_. Please, _enlighten_ me how the fuck I should react to you _tearing_ chunks out of our victim to feed her to a goddamn zombie then.” 

“_Technically_, we didn’t remove any part of the victim that was still attached to her body. The killer shot her several times after her death - perhaps under the false assumption that she would turn into a zombie - so _technically_ the only parts of her we’re feeding to Gavin are the bits that spilled out, the ones forensics would have disposed of in their cleanup anyway,” Connor explains in earnest.

“Oh, so you’re doing this because you want to lessen the burden of cleanup on forensics then?” Hank asks, words dripping with sarcasm.

“Yes.” Connor pauses. “And also because he looks hungry.”

“So?? You can’t just feed our victim to Gavin just because he skipped breakfast- HEY! Nines! I see you there!”

Nines, who had been sitting on Gavin’s back the entire time, blinks at him innocently, as if his bloody hands aren’t enough proof that he was sneaking Gavin some scraps too.

He looks at Gavin, all docile lying flat on the kitchen tiles, staring at him with puppy-dog eyes. Connor probably taught him how to do that, although It's not effective in any way considering the gore smeared all over his mouth and the blood on the floor. God, why the hell did the cyborg-zombie slash cat-goblin creator even make them want dead meat in the first place? Would it have been too much to ask for cyborg-zombie vegetarians??

“Lieutenant Anderson, if I may say something-”

“No you may NOT, Nines, I know how biased you are.” He then points a threatening finger at Gavin. “I'll dump my entire bottle of hand sanitizer on your eyeballs if you don't quit eating that shit right now, Reed,” Hank snarls. “We'll see how well your nanomachines can repair _that_.”

“Pretty well, actually,” Nines remarks. Connor hums in agreement. “Pretty quickly, too.”

“Will it at least hurt like a bitch in the meantime?”

“Yes.”

“Then let's do this. Come here!” Hank makes a grab at Gavin. 

Gavin lets out a shriek and immediately spits out whatever he was nibbling on. It looks more like a crunched up dead rat than something that came out of a human. Hell, Hank's like 95% sure that's actually a fucking rat and not whatever organ these androids think it is. With Nines sitting on his back and preventing his escape, he can’t avoid the merciless spraying from Hank’s hand sanitizer, leaving him twisting and screeching on the floor.

“Hank!” Connor scolds.

“Lieutenant Anderson, I must advise you to cease immediately unless you want to incur the wrath of the local zombie union,” Nines firmly says, as if he isn't the one keeping Gavin in place with his android butt.

“You mean he actually got one running at the DPD?” Hank questions, pausing his attack. Gavin hisses as he tries to wipe the sanitizer off his face. “I thought he’d need more zombies for that. Did we get new recruits?”

“Not quite. Gavin’s still the only zombie at our particular precinct. But a city-wide union has been established for all zombie workers in the city, and part of their worker rights is not being harassed for their zombism.”

“I’m not harassing him for being a zombie, I’m harassing him for eating our fucking victim!”

“Straw man arguments don’t become you, lieutenant. You know very well he’s not doing anything of the sort. Besides, the victim died of blunt force trauma; what he’s eating has nothing to do with that, and is therefore not important evidence.”

Before Hank could snap back that yes, Gavin is doing _exactly_ that because giblets are still definitely part of the victim and that yes, cannibalism is still fucking _wrong_, Connor intrudes with yet another rationalization. “It'll be a waste if we don't utilize the evidence sampling ability of our resident zombie detective, especially since he can apparently access the same database as us. Not even other androids can do that. Zombie Gavin is a boon to the department.”

“Okay now you're just making these reasons up as you go. No way Jeffrey fucking authorized this.” Hank glares, pointing the spray bottle at Connor threateningly. “Also, why the hell hasn’t Cyberlife been shut down yet?”

“Not enough evidence.” Connor says with a shrug. “Doesn’t make my point less true. Nines and I can both check how accurate his sampling is today, and to do that we would need actual organic samples. Like from this conveniently dead body.”

Hank heaves a heavy sigh. Fucking androids. Fucking zombie coworkers. “Fine. I give up.” Connor beams at him. “As long as it’s _purely_ work-related sampling, alright? And not- NINES! Don't put that rat back in his mouth! That's disgusting!”

“But lieutenant-!”

\----

Soft beeps accompany the tapping of fingers against the control panel. With a final press, the black privacy screen falls away, leaving the glass walls of his office as clear and see-through as ever. Fowler turns back to his fellow captain.

"Would you like some coffee before you leave? I'm sure discussing inter-precinct guidelines has left you as parched as I am."

"Heh, after all that talk about androids and zombies, why not?" Captain Mojica chuckles, following him out of his office. "Would be nice to see what fancy provisions the higher ups bestowed upon you Central Station lot."

Fowler keeps a straight face despite the snide comment. He's well aware of how the other stations view theirs for being at the center of pro-android rights discussions, what with their role in the human-android conflict last year (especially a particular android detective's actions), and for being the most accommodating precinct in the country for androids. With pro-android sentiments on the rise, local officials have been rewarding tolerant workplaces to better their public image. This, of course, has the effect of garnering resentment from the other police departments.

In Hank's words: "they're jealous because the mayor thinks we're hot shit for being okay with androids". Fowler can only dream of having the freedom to say that out loud.

Thankfully, the other captain keeps any further comments to himself, too awed by their top-of-the-line coffee machine in the break room. Fowler subtly explains that the machine was not donated by the mayor but was, in fact, assembled by some of the android hires out of broken police equipment. Captain Mojica frowns down at his coffee, and for a moment Fowler thought the man would throw the liquid onto their coffee maker out of anti-android spite. But the other captain did not obtain his position by publicly airing out his unpopular sentiments, much to Fowler's grudging respect, and Captain Mojica merely takes another sip through pursed lips.

A police-issued tablet has been left on one of the tables, displaying the very large headline 'CYBORG-ZOMBIES?'. It brings back memories of Hank demanding to know if he allowed Gavin to sample evidence at crime scenes a week ago. For the record, he did not, but the RK's arguments were compelling enough that he immediately approved it. Fowler is fairly sure that other captains would have been too disgusted to do the same, but he's never been one to let subjective feelings get in the way of letting someone work to the best of their capabilities.

He's also fairly sure theirs is the only precinct with a zombie on the payroll, if his meeting with Captain Mojica earlier was any indication. The new inter-precinct guidelines outlined by the mayor should change that soon.

He swipes at the tablet as they finish their coffees and walk out of the break room, confident that he could navigate his way to his own office by muscle memory as he reads an important-looking article. He doesn't expect Captain Mojica to stop dead in his tracks, his whole body going stiff as the bullpen comes into view. Fowler quickly looks up in alarm, scanning the area for any signs of danger. 

What he sees is Officer Wilson, balancing precariously on a chair shoved against a wall, waving an arm in the air as he tries to dislodge a toy helicopter from their vent. His arm is a bit too long, Fowler notices, and it takes him an embarrassingly long time to realize that the officer was holding someone else's severed arm to reach the ceiling.

A child - one of the witness's, he presumes - is cheering him on, and Detective Reed is standing off to the side looking bored, scrolling through his phone with one hand while his other limb is busy doing its civic duty. Blood is steadily dripping onto the floor from his empty shoulder socket, and Fowler has to fight back the urge to yell at him to mop it up (again, for the nth time). He has company, after all.

Said company is glaring at the scene in front of them. His face is twisting in disgust, eyes darting between the arm and Detective, and just as the captain opens his mouth, Fowler casually interjects with, "You know, my daughter was concerned at first about her job prospects later on with her being a zombie, but I told her that with people like our highly competent resident zombie detective here, the corporate world will be accommodating enough that she’s free to chase her dreams.” 

Captain Mojica immediately snaps his mouth shut, turning red. Fowler allows himself a small smirk. Ah, sweet vindication.

\----

In the middle of looking up health-oriented websites and trying to decide the best approach to tackling zombie malnutrition, a hand closes around his wrist, making Nines jerk in surprise as an unexpected bolt of electricity shoots up his arm.

"Huh. Did I actually manage to sneak up on you?" Gavin laughs from behind him.

"No." The android frowns, crossing his arms petulantly. Or he tries to, but the detective is still holding his wrist, fuzzy static humming beneath his synthetic skin where Gavin's hand is touching him. It's a strange sensation, but not a bad one, so Nines isn't exactly eager to shake the hand off.

“What is it? Are you done filing away the evidence from the Escaped Circus Animals case?” One of their weirder cases, for certain. Someone had gone around stealing Cyberlife animals from various Cyberlife zoos all over the country and started a circus with them right here in Detroit. After one failed show, the ringmaster was disheartened and released all the animals, causing pandemonium. One such animal, a robotic penguin, had managed to make its way to the DPD and has now established itself as their official mascot.

“Yeah, and when I skimmed through our old cases, I figured out who released these animals. Get this: it was Stabby the Clown!”

“The first?” Nines asked, surprised, though for some reason he can feel glee running through his systems. Huh, weird.

“The very same! Apparently he had some deep-seated childhood issues that led him down the dark path of stabbing and animal-napping. Anyway forget that! I was thinking,” he pauses dramatically. Nines raises an expectant eyebrow. “Do you want to go out?”

“. . . go outside?”

Gavin rolls his eyes. “No. Like- like- ah phck it. Go on a date. You know, go to the zoo or movies and shit. Or dinner. Something fancy. I heard those upscale restaurants have a lot of android food in their selection.”

“Oh.” Nines smiles. “I am not opposed to it, as long as you eat something healthy for once.”

“I do! I ate that lettuce you told me to! I just ended up shitting out an entire leaf!”

Nines feels aghast. “You didn’t chew it??”

“What- NO! Of course I did! I meant- you know what, it doesn’t matter. The point is you, me, date. Could be romantic.” Gavin conspicuously bats his eyelashes.

Nines hems and haws, pretending to think it over while secretly watching Gavin fidget nervously, until he takes pity on his maybe-boyfriend and goes, "Very well. But I’d prefer watching a movie at your place. Cinemas are overpriced.”

Gavin pretends to swoon. “Android after my own heart,” he says with a delighted grin.

“We could use this opportunity to watch another classical movie so the lieutenant would stop being up your ass about 'trying to convert me into stanning your K-drama idols'.”

“Eugh. That man has no taste,” Gavin declares, before looking up at him with adoration. “Not like you, babe!”

A fleeting thought passes through his head. _**His eyes are such a nice blue.**_ Nines glances down, staring warmly into Gavin's gray eyes-

. . . wait, what?

He blinks hard, but the thought is still hovering in his HUD. Clearly it's not his, he can see it's made of a completely different pattern of code. But whose? The only one with blue eyes in the precinct right now is Nines himself, and the only one looking at him, with the capability of transmitting his thoughts like an interfacing android is . . . Gavin?

But . . . how . . ? 

. . . oh. Right, nanomachines.

. . . maybe he should start referring to him as Cyborg-Zombie Gavin like everyone else has been. That would save him a lot of confusion in the long run.

He's about to voice out his new discovery when the detective leans up and plants an affectionate smooch on his lips.

A wave of affection washes over him, both his own and Gavin's, and as Nines gently pushes back, deepening the kiss, he thinks that this is definitely something he could get used to.

\----

Gavin and Nines have barely stepped foot in the bullpen when Hank groans loudly in his seat. "First K-dramas and now Spongebob?! I said classics, Reed, classics!" he yells, slamming his hands on his desk. Connor quickly saves the lieutenant's steaming cup of coffee from watering his new bonsai tree.

"Phck you, Spongebob Squarepants the Movie is a classic!" Gavin yells back, hands on his hips as he glares at the lieutenant. "It's my childhood!"

"You were like two years old when it came out-!"

"And like you'd do any better! You'd just pick something generic, like Blade Runner or Ex Machina."

"What's wrong with that??"

“He knows about androids already! He doesn’t need some old-timey take on android morals!”

Connor ignores the shouting humans and steps in front of Nines, who gives him a steady glance before his eyes return to the fight. The other android looks much the same, aside from his new accessory above his lip. 

Connor studies the new addition for a few seconds and nods. "I like your seaweed moustache."

Nines looks at him again, a small smile quirking his lips. "Thank you. It makes me feel like a real boy."

"I thought the purpose was to make you feel like a man?" Connor grins.

Nines hums in mock contemplation. “What is a man, really?”

The two androids serenely watch the unfolding fight in front of them, Connor eagerly grilling Nines about the details of his date over their communication link when Tina Chen steps into the precinct, two drinks in hand.

“Quite the racket they’re making,” she comments as she approaches the two. “What’re the ladies fighting about this time?”

Whether Spongebob the Movie is a classic or not,” Nines says.

“Of course it is. duh!”

“No, they’re fighting about whether it's the appropriate movie to introduce Nines to human entertainment,” Connor explains.

“Oh.” Tina takes a sip out of the more transparent drink. Fruit tea, from what Connor could read of the label. “Well, it's a lot better than making you watch an old sci-fi movie like Blade Runner.”

“Thank you, Tina!” Gavin yells.

“Don't thank her, she's biased!” Hank snaps.

“Anyway Gav, I picked up your drink. Come get it before I drink it all up for you.”

Gavin rolls his eyes but walks over to claim his drink. As he stabs his straw through the plastic, he says, “You wouldn't. You hate milk tea.”

“Because it's too sweet! I don’t know how you can even stand it!” She turns to Nines. “Can _you_ stand to drink it?”

“I haven't tried, but I’m certain that I can.”

Gavin quickly swallows down the pearl he's been chewing on. “Oh! That's right, I haven't actually made you try this out, have I?” He holds the plastic cup out towards Nines. “Go on, try it! Your android taste buds will fall in love with this bitch!”

Nines rolls his eyes, amused, before sighing dramatically. "Fine, you win Gavin," he concedes with a slight smile. He takes the drink from a whooping Gavin and sips, ingesting at least three of the tapioca pearls in one go.

And then his jaw dropped open, the liquid spilling out of his mouth like a sweet sugary waterfall as the android started choking.

"Shit!" Gavin rushes to slap Nines on the back repeatedly until the lodged pearl shoots out of his throat. 

At that moment, Fowler steps out of his office, headed for his coffee break. He takes one look at the mess Nines has made on the floor and thunders out, “GAVIN REED-”

I didn’t make the mess this time!”

In the commotion, the milk tea is left on top of Connor’s desk, where Nines had managed to place it down while choking. Curious, Connor picks it up and takes a small sip.

Milk tea. 50% sugar. Sweet, but nothing that would have evoked the reaction that Nines just had.

He takes a deeper sip, sucking in a tapioca pearl this time. It's small, but nothing that would have made Nines choke. For that matter, why would any food make him choke?

The pearl is soft and sticky. Strangely enough, there is a roughness to its texture. Isn’t it supposed to be smooth? He rolls the one around his tongue for a bit, confirming that yes, there are solid bits in the tapioca, too fine for humans to perceive. Perhaps it isn’t cooked well enough?

Ah well. Connor rolls the pearl in between his teeth and bites down, the tapioca’s surface providing little resistance to the piercing.

And immediately he spits it out.

“Connor! What the phck?? Don't make more of a mess!”

Connor doesn't listen to Gavin’s outraged protests, too busy trying to eject the intrusive thoughts that just bombarded him. Thoughts of optimal blood flow, organ turnaround time, and cartoon movie dates. He sets the disinfecting agent built-in with his taste buds to the strongest setting and floods his mouth with it, while setting up an appointment for an emergency deep cleaning for both him and Nines at the closest android repair shop. 

As he rids himself of the last of Gavin's nanomachines against the background noise of everyone in the bullpen fretting over the two androids, Connor reopens his communication link with Nines, channels his inner Hank, and emphatically says, **_Fucking Cyberlife._**

\----

“I can't believe you two got my favorite milk tea shop shut down.”

“It was for the best.”

“Why? I'm already a zombie! Everyone who drank it is already a zombie!”

Yes, but what if someone else tries out their drinks? More people could turn into zombies if left unchecked.”

Gavin glares sulkily at the storefront of the now-closed CL Tea. Which apparently actually stood for Cyberlife Tea, Cyberlife's side venture into the milk tea business which a Cyberlife executive used to try and take over the world. Who knew?

Well, the details of how it went down are still mostly speculation. Which executive it is or how deep the rabbit hole goes, no one knows yet, but the outraged clamor that resounded worldwide and the massive investigation into their market dealings - surprisingly headed by a furious Elijah, who had been immediately contacted by the RK brothers after they ate Gavin's nanomachine pearls - definitely means that Cyberlife is permanently out of business. 

Speaking of: "Why'd you two even say the nanomachines are mine? They didn't come from me, they were still in the tea."

"Yes, but you drank from it. The moment the drink made contact with your other nanomachines, it activated the dormant pearls and synced with your data. That's how the nanomachines work together with your own body, theoretically."

"So . . . if I drank my milk tea and gave it to another zombie, our robots will fight for domination?"

"Hypothetically, yes. I doubt it will end up with you controlling the other zombie's mind, considering the entire batch of nanomachines that started all this is defective, according to Kamski's investigation. Most likely they'll just revert back to their stem cell-like features." Nines raises a brow at him. "Not that you'd ever give someone your milk tea to test it out."

"Yeah, because _you got my favorite milk tea shop shut down._" 

They stand by the abandoned storefront for a handful of minutes, contemplating on the frankly absurd year this has been, before Nines gently nudges him with an elbow. The android intertwines their hands together, making Gavin feel the tingling warmth he can now confidently identify as affection from the other. "There's a coffee shop three blocks away. Do you want to go back to being a coffee addict?"

Gavin squeezes his hand, sending Nines his own affectionate emotions as he smiles up at him. "Coffee sounds _wonderful_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "The moral of the story is to stop drinking milk tea" I say as I drink my fifth milk tea for the week.
> 
> It's so wild to think that I started this way before COVID, and now IRL events are even more wack than anything I can think of for this XD
> 
> Sorry for the 5 month delay, school happened, shit happened, and so on. If any of you are following VR Buddies too, I'm sad to say that it'll probably take me a while to finish the last 2-3 chapters. I haven't really had much motivation for DBH / cop-related with what's been happening locally and internationally, but I don't want to half-ass my fics too much either, so I might stick to my Yakuza stuff for now. But I'm working on it slowly but surely! 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this!!


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